Barton Fink

---

FADE IN:

ON BARTON FINK:

He is a bespectacled man in his thirties, hale but somewhat bookish. He

stands, tuxedoed, in the wings of a theater, looking out at the stage,

listening intently to end of a performance.

In the shadows behind him an old stagehand leans against a flat,

expressionlessly smoking a cigarette, one hand on a thick rope that hangs

from the ceiling.

The voices of the performing actors echo in from the offscreen stage:

ACTOR:

I'm blowin' out of here, blowin' for good.

I'm kissin' it all goodbye, these four stinkin'

walls, the six flights up, the el that roars

by at three A.M. like a cast-iron wind. Kiss

'em goodbye for me, Maury! I'll miss 'em -

like hell I will!

ACTRESS:

Dreaming again!

ACTOR:

Not this time, Lil! I'm awake now, awake

for the first time in years. Uncle Dave said

it:
Daylight is a dream if you've lived with

your eyes closed. Well my eyes are open now!

I see that choir, and I know they're dressed

in rags! But we're part of that choir, both of

us - yeah, and you, Maury, and Uncle Dave too!

MAURY:

The sun's coming up, kid. They'll be hawking

the fish down on Fulton Street.

ACTOR:

Let 'em hawk. Let 'em sing their hearts out.

MAURY:

That's it, kid. Take that ruined choir. Make it

sing!

ACTOR:

So long, Maury.

MAURY:

So long.

We hear a door open and close, then approaching footsteps. A tall, dark

sctor in a used tweed suit and carrying a beat-up valise passes in front of

Barton:

From offscreen stage:

MAURY:

We'll hear from that kid. And I don't mean a

postcard.

The actor sets the valise down and then stands waiting int he shadows behind

Barton.

An older man in work clothes - not wardrobe - passes in front of Barton from

the other direction, pauses at the edge of the stage and cups his hands to

his mouth.

OLDER MAN:

FISH! FRESH FISH!

As the man walks back off the screen:

LILY:

Let's spit on our hands and get to work. It's

late, Maury.

MAURY:

Not any more Lil...

Barton mouths the last line in sync with the offscreen actor:

...It's early.

With this the stagehand behind Barton furiously pulls the rope hand-over-

hand and we hear thunderous applause and shouts of "Bravo!"

As the stagehand finishes bringing the curtain down, somewhat muting the

applause, the backstage actor trots out of frame toward the stage.

The stagehand pulls on an adjacent rope, bringing the curtain back up and

unmuting the applause.

Barton Fink seems dazed. He has been joined by two other men, both dressed

in tuxedos, both beaming toward the stage.

BARTON'S POV

Looking across a tenement set at the backs of the cast as the curtain rises

on the enthusiastic house. The actors take their bows and the cry of

"Author, Author" goes up from the crowd.

The actors turn to smile at Barton in the wings.

BARTON:

He hesitates, unable to take it all in.

He is gently nudged toward the stage by the two tuxedoed gentlemen.

As he exits toward the stage the applause is deafening.

TRACKING SHOT:

Pushing a maitre 'd who looks back over his shoulder as he leads the way

through the restaurant.

MAITRE 'D

Your table is ready, Monsieur Fink...several members

of your party have already arrived...

REVERSE:

Pulling Barton

FINK:

Is Garland Stanford here?

MAITRE 'D

He called to say he'd be a few minutes late...

Ah, here we are...

TRACKING IN:

Toward a large semi-circular booth. Three guests, two me and a woman in

evening wear, are rising and beaming at Barton. A fat middle-aged man, one

of the tuxedoed gentlemen we saw backstage, is moving out to let Barton

slide in.

MAN:

Barton, Barton, so glad you could make it. You know

Richard St. Claire...

Barton nods and looks at the woman.

...and Poppy Carnahan. We're drinking champagne,

dear boy, in honor of the occasion. Have you seen

the Herald?

Barton looks sullenly at his champagne glass as the fat man fills it.

BARTON:

Not yet.

MAN:

Well, I don't want to embarass you but Caven could

hardly contain himself. But more important, Richard and

Poppy here loved the play.

POPPY:

Loved it! What power!

RICHARD:

Yeah, it was a corker.

BARTON:

Thanks, Richard, but I know for a fact the only fish

you've ever seen were tacked to a the wall of the yacht

club.

RICHARD:

Ouch!

MAN:

Bravo! Nevertheless, we were all devastated.

POPPY:

Weeping! Copius tears! What did the Herald say?

MAN:

I happen to have it with me.

BARTON:

Please Derek -

POPPY:

Do read it, do!

DEREK:

"Bare Ruined Choirs: Triumph of the Common Man. The

star of the Bare Ruined Choirs was not seen on the stage

of the Belasco last night - though the thespians involved

all acquitted themselves admirably. The find of the evening

was the author of this drama about simple folk - fish

mongers, in fact - whose brute struggle for existence

cannot quite quell their longing for something higher. The

playwright finds nobility in the most squalid corners and

poetry in the most calloused speech. A tough new voice in

the American theater has arrived, and the owner of that

voice is named . . . Barton Fink."

BARTON:

They'll be wrapping fish in it in the morning so I guess

it's not a total waste.

POPPY:

Cynic!

DEREK:

Well we can enjoy your success, Barton, even if you can't.

BARTON:

Don't get me wrong - I'm glad it'll do well for you, Derek.

DEREK:

Don't worry about me, dear boy - I want you to celebrate.

BARTON:

All right, but I can't start listening to the critics, and I

can't kis myself about my own work. A writer writes from

his gut, and his gut tells him what's good and what's...

merely adequate.

POPPY:

Well I don't pretend to be a critic, but Lord, I have a gut,

and it tells me it was simply marvelous.

RICHARD:

And a charming gut it is.

POPPY:

You dog!

RICHARD:

(baying)

Aaa-woooooooo!

Barton turns to look for the source of an insistent jingling. We swish pan

off him to find a busboy marching through the restaurant displaying a page

sign, bell attached, with Barton's name on it.

TRACKING IN TOWARD A BAR

A distinguished fifty-year-old gentleman in evening clothes is nursing a

martini, watching Barton approach.

PULLING BARTON:

As he draws near.

BARTON:

I thought you were going to join us. Jesus, Garland, you

left me alone with those people.

GARLAND:

Don't panic, I'll join you in a minute. What's you think of

Richard and Poppy?

Barton scowls

BARTON:

The play was marvelous. She wept, copiously. Millions of

dollars and no sense.

Garland smiles, then draws Barton close.

GARLAND:

We have to talk a little business. I've just been on the

phone to Los Angeles. Barton, Capitol Pictures wants to

put you under contract. They've offered you a thousand

dollars a week. I think I can get them to go as high as

two.

BARTON:

To do what?

GARLAND:

What do you do far a living?

BARTON:

I'm not sure anymore. I guess I try to make a difference.

GARLAND:

Fair enough. No pressure here, Barton, because I respect

you, but let me point out a couple of things. One, here

you make a difference to five hundred fifty people a

night - if the show sells out. Eighty-five million people

go to the pictures every week.

Rate this script:5.0 / 1 vote